


Tempering

by EllieL



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-La Pierre, Sweet fluffy vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 06:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: Satu hadn’t been able to open her up; she’d forged her into something that would emerge stronger and fiercer. But at the moment she still felt untempered, malleable.Post-ep following the events of Satu/La Pierre.





	Tempering

Satu hadn’t been able to open her up; she’d forged her into something that would emerge stronger and fiercer. But at the moment she still felt untempered, malleable. She met Matthew’s eyes in the mirror, searching for a safe space to pull herself back together.  


“Do you want to take a bath?” His voice was careful, controlled.  


She nodded. “Please.” The split shirt slid from her shoulders in a puddle before she followed him to the bathroom.  


Sitting against the edge of the bathtub as he turned on the taps, she struggled to remove her running shoes, reaching arms pulling on her back.  


“Let me.” He was at her side in an instant, fingers cool and soothing on her battered skin.  


“Thank you.” She watched with detachment as he carefully unlaced her shoes, lifted her feet and slipped them off.  


“Do you need any other help?” He reached over and turned off the taps, tub two-thirds full of steamy water.  


“You’ll need to cut off my sports bra too.”  


His hand wrapped around her forearm reassuringly for a second, then he rose and returned to the bedroom. While he was gone she shed her leggings and noted that on his return to the bathroom he looked at her with something beyond medical professionalism, before focusing on the task at hand.  


Appraising her back, he slid the straps of the bra off her shoulders. “I don’t want to cut near...near your back.” She gulped and shook her head. “I’ll cut the front.” There was thinly controlled range on his face as he stood in front of her and tried to find the best angle to slice the garment without injuring her further.  


Was it really less than 24 hours ago that his lips had been trailing across her breasts?  


She closed her eyes but opened them again as her heart rate immediately increased in panic at not being able to see what was being done to her. There was nothing but concern in his eyes then, one of his hands resting over her heart.  


In two snips, the bra was gone and she heaved a deep sigh. Blinking, she reached for the edge of the massive tub, and Matthew’s hand was immediately at her elbow, supporting, as she sank into the perfectly warm water.  


“I’ll be right in the bedroom.”  


She caught his wrist before he could step away. “Stay. Please.” She wasn’t sure what she needed, but knew she did not want to be alone.  


He instantly sat on the floor next to the tub, something that was an attempt at a smile playing on his lips.  


Picking up the washcloth, she swirled it through the water, watching the ripples. Swirled it again, as water sloshed against her skin and the sides of the tub. With a sigh, she sank back to rest against the tub then gasped and splashed upright abruptly as the fresh brand on her back came into contact with it. Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill as the water roiled as if boiling around her.   


“Diana,” he whispered, sitting still beside her.  


She took a shaky breath, tried to steady herself but she felt as fluid as the water. It would take so little to slip away without something to ground her, as she reached out blindly for him. His hand was there, fingers twining with hers, pulling her back to herself.   


“I’ve got you.”  


It felt like forever, the water calming then cooling around her, cooling her, until she felt able to release his hand and fumble for the washcloth and soap. As she did so, Matthew trailed his fingers through the water, then ran in more hot until she could once again feel warmth suffusing her sore body.  


“Would you like me to wash your hair?” It was almost a whisper. His fingers skimmed over her dirty, tangled tresses.   


She still didn’t trust her voice, but nodded once. Someone to care for her. That was what she wanted right now, loathe as she was to admit it even to herself. But she could also feel the barely controlled turmoil in Matthew, knew he needed to be here taking care of her or else be out taking revenge on her behalf.   


“Close your eyes.”  


After a deep breath, she did, as he turned on water to the showerhead and rinsed her hair, water sluicing down her face. A shiver of fear crept down her spine, until she heard his voice, quiet over the water.  


_“Molt jauzions mi prenc en amar_

_Un joi don plus mi vueill aizir;_

_E pos en joi vueill revertir,_

_Ben dei, si puesc, al meils anar,_

_Quar meillor n'am, estiers cujar,_

_C'om puesca vezer ni auzir.”_  


It was easier then, the sound of his voice reassuring, even if she couldn’t understand what he was singing to her. She truly relaxed when he began working shampoo through her hair, long strong fingers massaging her scalp. It felt so intimate, so safe.  


He finished his song as he rinsed the lather from her hair, then rested one hand on her shoulder.  


“What was that?”  


“A very old love song.”  


She looked over at him, tenderness for her having won out for the moment over his simmering anger. “Did Philippe write that too?”  


“No, Guillaume de Poitiers. He also loved a strong woman.”  


“Dangereuse.”  


A real smile flitted across his face then, and he gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “Yes. And no, I didn’t know her. I met him on Crusade. Ysabeau could tell you some tales about her, though.”  


The immensity of these small revelations was becoming clearer to her after a week amongst vampires. She wondered if she would ever know all of his past.  


He must have seen the inquisitiveness on her face. “We’re not creatures who share our secrets or histories easily. Ask, and I’ll tell you what is mine to tell.” He kissed the top of her head, lips resting on her wet hair.   


“I think I’m ready to get out now.”  


Extending an arm, he stepped back, helping her up and out of the water. Only when she began to step over the high side of the bath did he wrap his arm around her waist and lift her free. She barely had her feet on the floor and he was already handing her a towel, enormous and plush, and she wrapped it around herself until it touched the tender skin of her back. Even that was enough to make her gasp and nearly drop the towel.  


The concern was back in his eyes as he watched her. “Marthe brought up some ointment I’ll put on that for you. And there’s tea. Come in to the bedroom when you’re ready.” He gave her hand a brief squeeze before stepping away.  


She could still hear him rattling around in the bedroom, making noise for her sake even as he gave her a little space to herself. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her hair up and slid the towel down, twisting to look in the bathroom mirrors and get a better look at the damage wrought to her back. Symbols had power, and she had been marked with Matthew’s.   


Blinking, she managed to look away from the reflection of her seared back and finish drying off. Her bag sat waiting for her, and she managed to find the sweatpants and soft t-shirt she usually slept in. Pulling on underwear and the pants, she clutched the shirt in front of her as she entered the bedroom, limping slightly.   


Matthew looked up from where he was fiddling with the tea tray and watched her make her way towards him, saying nothing. When she was a few feet away, he gestured to a plush chair. “Sit. I’ll take a look at that ankle, too.”  


She obeyed with a sigh, and stuck out her sore ankle in his general direction. Before he touched her, he handed over a steaming teacup. Inhaling deeply, warm chamomile filling her lungs, she gave him a little smile.  


Kneeling in front of her, he carefully probed her ankle and lower leg, rolling her foot and flexing it. “You landed on this?”  


“In the oubliette. But she also hung me upside down….” Shrugging, she took a gulp of the hot tea.  


He was very still for a second, then set her foot back down on the rug. “It’s mildly sprained, but will be fine with rest. Now, if you can turn, I’d like to get a better look at your back.”  


She tucked her uninjured leg under herself and turned on the chair until she was facing half away from him. A warm hand on her leg stopped her before he was out of range of her peripheral vision, and she took another gulp of tea. The cup was already half empty.  


“This looks like it’s already healing. She did this with magic?” Diana nodded rapidly. “Then I don’t want to do too much with it. It’s meant as a warning, I think, not a wound.”   


Even without his enhanced senses, she could smell the ointment as soon as he opened the jar. It was pungently herbal, but not unpleasant.   


“I’m going to apply this now. It will probably hurt. Tell me if you need me to stop.”  


It didn’t hurt, though; his finger and the ointment were cooling on her seared flesh, but there was something more than that. As he traced the lines on her back, something magical sparked within her, sending her blood humming through her veins in a way he surely could hear too.   


“Are you all right, Diana?”  


“Yes. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s okay.” She glanced sideways to meet his eyes, focused intently on her back, sparing only a second to meet hers.  


As his finger swept over the curve of the crescent moon, a shiver went through her body.   


“You’re cold.”  


“No. Well, yes, I am, but that wasn’t...I don’t know what that was.” She stared intently into the teacup, as if there would be tea leaves with answers.  


His hand rested on the bare expanse of her lower back for a moment. “Put your shirt on. Do you want your sweater too?”  


She fumbled with the tea cup for a minute before he took it from her, and pull the shirt carefully over her head. “Please.”  


Handing her back the cup, he surveyed the room before zeroing in on the garment and retrieving it for her.  Wrapping it around her shoulders, his hands came to rest on them and he dropped his head next to her ear. “Will you be all right for a little while? I need to speak with Baldwin and Ysabeau.”  


Nodding, she rested one hand on his on her shoulder, before taking the tea back from him. “I’ll be fine.”  


His lips brushed her temple lightly before he departed. For long minutes she stared after him, then down into her cup.  


One long sip revealed nothing more than the blank white expanse of ancient porcelain.

 

*

 

She’d expected to wake in a panic, gasping, from a nightmare. Instead her eyes flickered open in darkness and she took a deep breath trying to remember where she was. At her slow exhale, there was the creak of old wood, and by the starlit window she could see the silhouette of Matthew, a book forgotten in hand, and looking every inch the vampire as he watched her.  


“Bad dream?” His whisper was loud in the silence.  


Her head shook against the pillow before she shifted, trying to turn to face him, to sit without leaving the warm cocoon of blankets. “I thought there would be. They started in Oxford.”  


He looked decidedly lupine as she crossed the dim room to the bedside and crouched beside her. His fingers slipped into the curl of hers on the edge of the eiderdown. “Tell me,” barely words, not quite a question.  


Fingers tightened on his, gave a little tug, trying to convey her wishes without having to ask. He understood, releasing her fingers with a squeeze and coming to rest on top of the blankets beside her as she scooted back to the middle of the bed. She snaked one arm out to wrap around him, wincing a little as the reach pulled on her back; even in the darkness she knew he saw it from the way his hand came to rest delicately just on the edge of her shoulder.  


The spicy scent of him washed over her as she settled against him, not meeting his eyes. It was easier that way. “It started after Ashmole. Spiders. I was caught in spiderwebs.”  


“But not tonight?”  


“No. I don’t think I was dreaming at all. I don’t...I don’t remember anything.” She shrugged. She wasn’t awake enough for psychoanalysis.  


Matthew kissed the crown of her head, waiting for her to continue. His thumb stroked over the curve of her shoulder. “You’re exhausted. You’ve only been asleep a few hours.”  


“What time is it?”  


“Just midnight.”  


“Oh.” Quietly, as she snuggled closer to him.  


“Go back to sleep. I won’t go any farther than where I was by the window.”  


Giving him a little squeeze, she took a deep breath against him. “Don’t go any farther than this.” She knew that if he wasn’t a vampire, he wouldn’t have heard it.

 

*

 

In the small hours of the night, she woke with a start, pulling away from him, sitting up, gasping.  He was there, beside her, rubbing her lower back, but giving her space. She took it, tried to still herself, calm herself, slow her breathing, figure out what the hell that just was.  


He asked nothing, silent, waiting. His fingers traced the base of her spine, floated up to knead her neck, stroked across the long muscles of her shoulders. Waiting was not unfamiliar to him.  


“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, eventually.  


“There’s nothing wrong with you.”  


“It doesn’t feel that way. I feel different. Like I’m unravelling.”  


“Everyone feels unravelled at 3AM.”  


“This is different. The spiderwebs are being pulled away into nothingness.”  


“It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe, now.”  


The only sound in the room for long minutes was the faint crackle of the dying fire, and his hand worrying along the worn cotton of her sleeve as they lay back down on the bed.  


“Earlier you said I could ask you questions. About the past. Your past.”  


He was even stiller than usual, before nodding slowly. “What do you want to know?”  


She knew it was dangerous territory, could be an enormous ask. But she was tired, and the sound of his voice was soothing, safe. “Tell me about a castle you built.”  


Under her, she could feel his slow exhalation. “That’s what you want to know, now?” There was an edge of laughter in his voice.  


“I just want to hear your voice,” she whispered. “I’ll ask about the more important things, like Isaac Newton, when I’m awake.”  


“While his work is fascinating, he wasn’t particularly interesting.” There was laughter in his voice then, soothing her jangling nerves. “Castles, now, well, those were fascinating. Everyone always wanted something _different_ . Constant innovation, in architectural styles and materials. Early Romanesque, when I was still alive….”  


Professorial tones lulled her, allowed her to mind to coalesce back into herself. Academic, reasoned, rational thoughts, reassuring her as she drifted back to sleep, back to herself.

 

*


End file.
